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S. POV

Katniss is sitting alone at the kitchen table, hand propping up her chin as she traces the rim of her glass with her finger. A ray of morning light turns her edges soft and gold. She looks... different today. My brow furrows. I go still by the doorframe, studying every detail. Her hair is in loose wavy curls that cascade down her back, a braid crowning her head. Her slightly parted lips are painted a dusky pink, the planes of her cheeks in a light blush. Her half closed eyes are lined with a smoky kohl, the lashes long and thick. She's wearing a pale blue silk shirt half-tucked in dark slim fit trousers. A small gold necklace glints in the hollow of her collarbone.

They used to have paintings that looked like her, of morose-looking young women; fair and apple-cheeked,draped in finery or peasant garb, holding lambs, swinging in flower laden meadows, in mid-dance, lying in repose, being coronated, being ravished, somehow angelic and sinful all at once. I had seen these kinds of paintings in private galleries; forbidden old things from a different world. I always liked them for the immutable quality in the masterful brushwork; how the eyes seemed to hold an alluring mystery. Beauty was so subtle back then. It was a marvel really, the rawness and the purity of it, like untouched honey right from the comb.

She notices me watching her and her posture stiffens infinitesimally. "I didn't want to look out of place next to you," she says abruptly, her eyes defiant, daring me to make a smart comment. "I should start putting in an effort, so it looks like you're doing your job as my assistant, telling me how to look and how to act..."

A half-smile draws the corner of my mouth. She's always three steps ahead, the clever girl.

"A logical choice," I say as I take my place beside her at the table. Although I know I shouldn't, I add rather impulsively, "You look beautiful, Katniss."

She exhales in an annoyed way, like she doesn't believe me. Why should she? I have to admit I go a bit beyond with flattery out of habit, but I'm completely sincere this time. I had studied her so intensely before, poring over her taped appearances and training sessions, tracking her every move during the Games. I would have to be willfully ignorant not to notice her attractiveness, even as she downplayed it. It was just ancillary to what mattered to me as a Gamemaker so I set it aside. I realize my brief malfunction wasn't because of her hair, or makeup, or clothes. There was something completely compelling and naturally lovely in that one unguarded moment. I felt like I was glimpsing at a secret part of her as she sat unaware, in the midst of a daydream. I've seen many iterations of the Girl on Fire but I think this one is my favorite.

Prim and Daphne's absence this morning is certainly felt. Even the cat has gone off somewhere, leaving us alone. I swear I can hear my clock ticking from my room, or perhaps it's my own pulse thudding in my ears. I'm no stranger to awkward breakfasts with the occasional drunken mistake from the night before but this is quite new to me.

'How did we get here?' I muse to myself.

If things had gone differently, we would have dined together alone under vastly different circumstances. It's one of the many traditions following the conclusion of a Game, one that I didn't very much care for but was obligated to do; a dinner, with just the Head Gamemaker and the Victor. I've never quite pinned down why or how it first came to be, was it a courtesy, a treat, an ugly reminder? In any case I went along with it.

I thought about the last two years. The Victors from my previous games enjoyed the dinner immensely as it was their first pampering after the grueling ordeal. Conversation was easy enough if not terribly inspired. Witless banter was just another part of the job that I had to endure and did it well, just until dessert, when I would excuse myself back to my apartment and sleep for three solid days.

I knew the stories of what other Gamemakers did with this dinner; a little unofficial opportunity they were given. "The first taste" is what they called it. I'll admit I'm no saint, but I chose not to partake, believing my influence over Tributes should remain in the Arena. I wasn't about to use my position to bring anyone to my bed who was not actively willing. However, I understood the fascination with it that compelled the others; the feeling of having power over life and death and sex, the thrill of picking the most ripe and delectable berry in Panem.

I hadn't thought of it until now, what that dinner would be like with Katniss. Like an odd itch it comes unbidden and the elaborate candlelit dining hall with a spread before us dripping with exotic dishes materializes in my mind's eye. She's sitting across from me from the other end of the table length, dressed like a queen and presented like a gift, a glass of wine in her hand. With those piercing grey eyes of her, she stares at me like one of those women in the paintings, her expression challenging and somewhat thrilling. I stop there; it feels obscene to go any further.

"Where are the others this morning?" I ask as I help myself to some fruit on the table.

"They're going to the Seam, to our old home." Katniss follows suit and takes an apple. With my questioning gaze, she further clarifies, "It's been something of a dream of my mother's, to run an affordable clinic. It'll be more convenient setting up shop there instead of having people travel all the way across town to see her and Prim." She produces a paring knife and begins to peel the apple, shedding the skin in one long unbroken spiral. "They left early this morning to clean. It might take months to set up, with renovations."

"That's amazing," I say, and I mean it. "If there's any way I can help…"

She arches a brow. "A Capitol man getting his hands dirty trying to give free health care to the poor," she says dryly. "A surefire way to blend in." I have to chuckle at the absurdity as well.

"We can visit one of these days," she adds belatedly. "Prim would like it. She's sorry to miss out on today. She wanted very badly to come along with us."

I smile. "Prim is wonderful. She's the little sister I never had."

"Did you have any brothers?" Katniss asks. It catches me by surprise. This is the first personal question she's asked me. Prim is usually the one quizzing me about my life back in the Capitol.

"No," I say, as I pluck off a grape. "It was only me."

"Sounds lonely."

"It was, sometimes," I admit. "I got used to it. It was probably for the best. I don't think I would be as attentive as you are. Prim is lucky to have you as an older sibling."

She shakes her head and takes a bite of her apple. "I'm the lucky one," she continues. " And I suppose, if I had to, I could share Prim with you."

"Was that up for debate?" I laugh, taken by surprise at her sudden shift in mood.

She shoots me a look. "Of course. She's mine isn't she?"

I give a slight nod of concession. "We should let Prim choose. It's only fair."

Katniss scoffs in return. "You'd never win."

"I never said anything about beating you. Just getting my half. I feel like I'm entitled to it," I say in a serious tone. "I have been putting in quite a number of hours with her."

"And me?"

"What about you?"

"We've spent just as much time together." She crosses her arms and looks at me expectantly. "Am I not your sister as well?"

I paue thoughtfully. "A sister… Hmm. More of a Warden than anything."

The corner of her lip curls. A rare Katniss smile if I ever saw one. It's a casual moment, but there's a little warm flare of pleasure in my chest. Progress, I think to myself.

"What did you have planned for me today, Warden?" I ask as I pour myself water from the pitcher.

"I want to take you around town, show you the shops, stop by the post office, have lunch at the creek, and drinks at the Hob..."

"A busy day," I remark. "You know Katniss, if you're not feeling up to it, we could always cancel and I can go on my own."

She sighs pointedly. "Why would I want to do that?"

"I realize spending the entire day with me is not exactly something you would choose to do and I apologise for putting the burden on you without first consulting you," I say cordially. It's only fair, I think, to give her an out. As pleasant as things are going so far, I would hate to spoil it by being a nuisance all day.

Katniss presses her lips together in thought before responding. "No, we should do this now; together. You'd get yourself lost or in trouble without me. Besides, the sooner people see us in town together, the sooner they can accept you and the reason why you're here." She rises from the table. "Let's clean up here and head out. We don't have all day."

And just like that it's settled. I'm satisfied to know at the very the least that Katniss is my willing guide. Perhaps today will be a good day.

The sun is bright and blinding. I have to blink away the stars.

I had nearly forgotten what fresh air was like. I take a slow lungful as the sun's rays warm my clean-shaven face. It feels like a hit, loosening the knots and tangles of my nerves. I didn't realize how much I missed it, how much I needed it.

"Is there anything I should prepare for before we go out there?" I ask, nodding towards the gates leading into town.

"If it's anything like last night's performance, you'll be just fine," she responds.

I grin. "So you enjoyed Quintus Reed?"

"Enjoyed?" She snorts at this. "I suppose it would have been entertaining if I didn't feel like I was going to throw up out of nervousness." Katniss gives me a sidelong glance. "Just be yourself. Be Seneca Crane."

"Quintus Reed is nothing like Seneca Crane."

"How is that?"

I ponder this for a moment. "Quintus Reed is a good house guest. He's not obsessed with self image. He has time to read books, and likes cats. He's the kind of man that offers to help build free clinics and is slowly learning not to put his foot in his mouth. He's much better than Seneca Crane in many ways. My name and my circumstances for being here have changed but the rest, I suppose, is genuinely me."

Katniss has an odd expression on her face that I can't seem to pin down. "Then you'll do fine today."

We fall into a comfortable silence and easy pace. It's not like the silences before; thunderous in unspoken volumes. It's nice. Light and unburdened. I can hear the birds chirping and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees above us. For the first time I feel like I've finally reached a place with Katniss I didn't think was possible before. I catch sight of her back as she walks two or three steps ahead of me and imagine the invisible quills that had been keeping the two of us at distance go flat and defenseless.

The Merchant area is just how I remembered it as a boy. It hadn't changed a bit in all of those years; the ice cream shop, the fountain in the town square, the white courthouse with the intricately carved pillars, they were all still there. I soak everything up, thirsty for the sights and sounds. After weeks of being unable to get near anything resembling a window, everything feels exciting and novel. There are well dressed children in the streets playing, ladies with feathered hats out walking their dogs, and men smoking and chatting idly. It's picturesque and quaint. An antidote for the things to come, I know.

As unobtrusive as I feel, dressed down in a plain dark gray suit, I don't go unnoticed. I get a lot of curious looks, a few polite nods and smiles. I suppose walking alongside the current Victor of the Hunger Games will garner a lot of attention.

A grandmotherly woman in an apron beckons Katniss over to a flower shop she's tending to. "Good morning, my dear," she greets cheerfully.

"Good morning Mrs. Avery," Katniss softens and smiles.

"I'll have your mother's order of passionflowers ready by Monday. Would you like me to send someone to the house to deliver them?"

"Oh, I can come pick it up. It's no trouble."

The woman's eyes shift over to me and she regards me with a warm smile. "You have a friend with you today?"

"This is Quintus. He's from the Capitol. He's going to stay here for a few months helping me out. I'm just showing him around today." Katniss relays this so effortlessly, even I believe it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I say, dipping into a half bow.

"Tell me, are you enjoying yourself here, Quintus? Our Katniss isn't causing too much trouble for you, is she?" Her eyes twinkle knowingly. Katniss' reputation seems to precede her.

"Not at all. She's been an absolute delight to work for," I say, laying on the charm thickly. "I look forward to my stay here and getting to take care of Miss Everdeen's every need." I can feel Katniss' gaze boring holes into me. Perhaps I'm having a little too much fun roleplaying.

"How nice! I wish you all the best during your visit here. Who knows, perhaps you'll find a reason to stay here for good. After all, you two look quite handsome together on the street!" She titters behind a gloved hand.

I chuckle as well. Katniss looks slightly mortified.

"Quintus, if you need anything- flowers or arrangements of any sort for any occasion… " the older woman says hintingly.

"I'll see you on Monday to pick up the order," Katniss interrupts. "Thank you. Have a nice day Mrs. Avery." She nearly drags me by my sleeve into an alley as I also bid farewell.

Once we're well away from earshot, she turns to me with a scowl. "Ugh. That was what I was afraid of."

"What, that people would assume we're together?" I ask in mock offense.

"Exactly." Her scowl deepens.

I try not to laugh. It feels like an absurd thing to get upset about. It had never occurred to me that that was why people were probably staring at us. Now I didn't think I was that old but it still didn't feel like it was in the realm of possibility, with Katniss being within Reaping age.

"Even if they don't say anything, I can't stop them from thinking about it," she frets. "Again with this! It was hard enough being around Gale and trying to remind everyone that we were just friends and nothing more. Now I have to deal with questions about you too…"

"Gale." I remember now. I had completely forgotten up until this moment.

She shifts uncomfortably. "What about Gale?"

"You left last night to speak to him, didn't you? How did it go?"

Her grey gaze flicks to the ground. "It went as expected. He won't bother us anymore. He promised." And just like that she seems to close off from me.

I know I shouldn't pry but I can't help myself. "Katniss, did something happen between the two of you?"

"No, nothing happened. I did what I was supposed to do and that's all you should concern yourself with," she says a little sharply.

And this morning was going so well.

"You're right. I'm sorry." I raise my hands deferentially. "I should be thanking you for going over there so late at night on my behalf. I didn't mean to meddle."

A strange look darkens her face. "It's complicated," she mutters finally, chastened. "But you don't have to worry about me. Really." She stalks off and I reluctantly follow.

I think about Gale Hawthorne. In my time with them, he's been mentioned only a handful of times and never had it evoked a visceral reaction from Katniss. I have to remind myself that she's right, it isn't any of my business. She is more than capable of handling herself, without my interference.

I happen to glance at the storefront we've found ourselves at. We're at a bakery. Katniss stands there for the longest time. She's quiet. At first I think she's surveying the assortment of pastries and the baskets of bread. I wonder if we'll stop in here to buy something for dinner or a little treat for Prim. I'm about to point out a roll shaped to look like a rabbit with a raisin nose and eyes when I notice the gold lettering on the window.

MELLARK BAKERY.

Peeta Mellark. The baker's son from District Twelve. The blonde boy who stood by her side and died in her arms.

He was a unique case. I can't say that I had high hopes for him initially. He didn't have the combat skills that the other Tributes possessed nor the killing edge. He was intelligent and charismatic enough to play the game but that alone would not lead him far. Katniss had been his saving grace. She saw something in him, protected him, cared for him, up until the bitter end. Like the rest of the nation, I too was enraptured by the drama unfolding. I never stopped to question until now if the romance had been real or a farce. I simply used it as an opportunity to push an entrancing narrative. I wonder if it even matters now.

"Katniss?"

She's unresponsive. It's a little terrifying, how empty her face goes. Her body is slack and I'm surprised she's still able to stand.

I take her chin to break the spell, pull her face to mine, away from what she sees in her thousand yard stare. I shouldn't be doing this, I know it. She doesn't like to be touched, least of all by me. She doesn't recoil like I expected. Her skin is soft and velvety under the pads of my fingers. My thumb brushes her lower lip accidentally. She finally looks into my eyes, grief emanating from her in waves.

I guide her back into the deserted alley we came from. She follows me stiffly, right to the concrete stoop we both sink onto, knee to knee. She squeezes her eyes shut and cycles through slow, shaky breaths. I feel like I've already overstepped several boundaries but I hesitantly take a hand and begin to gently stroke her hair, hoping it would either calm her down or jar out of her sudden fog.

I think about the Katniss from the dining table in that alternate reality. It is clear to me now that in that scenario she would not look upon me with the soft gaze of an oil painting but with contempt, a quiet rage burning in her eyes for the man who had engineered her nightmares. The fighting spirit that kept her alive would be ever present, barely contained in her pretty face. Even so, this Katniss would be inconsequential after that evening, whether I had my way with her or not. Her anger would be nothing but a faded memory as I would move on and continue with my work, sending children to their deaths and dining with the Victors. Rinse and repeat.

I had never been forced to reconcile with the aftermath of my orchestrations, not like this. The other two had been so pleased about their wins, after all, and I had barely interacted with them once everything was said and done. I had been so caught up in my own turmoil I had failed to realize what this meant for Katniss; a soldier out of the battlefield, still carrying invisible wounds that I inflicted, forced to bear my presence, and the dead boy that haunted her still.

Inspiration: Mykonos by Fleet Foxes

4/21/2020- chapter edited for clarity

A/n: Super grateful to those who left a review for the last chapter! I honestly wasn't expecting anything but it makes me happy that there are still some readers keeping tabs on this story!

This chapter was pretty difficult to nail down. I kept switching POVs and cutting and pasting back scenes. The breakfast scene was a last minute addition (they were originally supposed to go straight into town) but it's my favorite part of this chapter. I'm glad I stuck with Seneca's voice here. It's easier to write as Katniss but I feel like he has a wealth of information and emotions to share that would progress the story. The inklings of romance were fun to write and more is yet to come.

Again, thank you for reading!

Chii